Charlie winked the tears out of her eyes. The argument was crushing, for she could not refute the lameness of the logic; and she had always felt sore about being a girl.
"They teach women to draw and paint down here at Cooper Institute," he said presently.
"But I suppose it costs a good deal?" and Charlie sighed.
"Yes."
"These things are for rich people," said Mary Jane with an air of authority.
Charlie could not summon heart to question further: besides, she had some ideas in her brain. Maybe she might sell her pictures to some newspaper. Any how, she would try.
She began the week with this determination. On Monday she dressed herself carefully, and gave her face a rather rigorous inspection. It did look very little-girlish. And somehow she wished her hair wasn't short, and that she could be handsome. Who ever heard of such dark eyes and light hair, such a peculiar tint too,—a kind of Quaker-drab; not golden nor auburn nor chestnut. Well, she was as she grew, and she couldn't help any of it.
By dint of inquiring now and then, she found her way about pretty well. Her first essay was in the office of an illustrated paper.
The man listened to her story with a peculiar sharp business air, and merely said,—
"No: we don't want any thing of the kind."